Scream
by PinkLemonade
Summary: It's like a vicious cycle. Running from something you're trapped inside, much like running around in a circle. Always somehow brought back to the beginning. Oneshot. Angst. M.


**Title**: Scream

**Rated**: MA

**Warnings**: excessive gore, angst

**Summary**: It's like a vicious cycle. Running from something you're trapped inside,much like running around in a circle. Always somehow brought back to the beginning.

**DSCILAIMER: HAY GUYS SAIYUKI AND SUCH IS NOT MINE, I THOUGHT I SHOULD TELL YOU THAT.**

**---**

And the skies had opened up. The rain had fallen down.

_The thing I hated most, served as my best companionat that moment._

His fingers pushed against the blood covered ground. The entire floor had about two inches of blood soaking it. It bubbled and popped, smelt disgusting with decay and rage. Body parts along the ground, guts strewn in piles, meaty flesh tacked from rips along the walls with hand shaped bloody prints. Flies buzzing loudly, moist tongues hanging from broken jaws and mutilated mouths. Bullet holes dripping with liquid of red, blue and transparency. Eyes rolled back, pupils dilated, staring at the ceiling for all eternity.

His fingers spread apart, as the blood soaked into his pores. He sat there on the ground, his lower half drenched with the red liquid. Splotches of it drawn maniacally along his face and torso. Hair pinned down with dried, maroon colored blood. His robes sat around his waist. Blood slowly creeped up into its fibers. His back was bare, skin red, drawn down with bruises and cuts.

He kept his head bowed, breathing deeply in and out. Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose. His fingers curled. Turning into tight fists, squeezing out some of the blood in his black glove. Slowly, his shaking legs drew to his sore feet. His body shook, jolted, before he fell against the broken bed stand. He grasped onto the pole of the bed, which had been broken in half. The sharp tip of the damaged pole punctured his palm. He just continued to hold himself there, never once pulling back or showing any sign of pain. He paid no mind to the pulping noises he heard, as skin broke, layers of tissue popping as he squeezed tighter to the pole. Dark crimson red blood slithered around the pole like a snake.

His knees buckled. It was not the sight of the damage he had done that sickened him. It was the sight of the damage that happened to him that he painted before him ever so unconsciously with corpses and their red paint. He looked around, right eye hidden beneath a chunk of bloody bangs. Twelve... Yes, five of them. Five dead bodies, broken to pieces, gone to Hell with a look of all ready being there on their faces.

He wish he could smirk, but his cracked and bloody lips hurt too much. He heard the lightning outside strike just after a growl of thunder. The rain was pouring, rather hard and fast. He glared with his visible eye, turning his direction to the bed. Filled with stab wounds, blood and feathers from pillows. He had only been trying to sleep. The rouge monsters should have known better to mess with him, especially as he slept. He looked over at the rolled up bundle of parchment on the nearby table. It was because of that piece of paper they came to taste so-called immortality.

Once the blood evened in his body, and the dizziness was numb, he let go of the broken bed stand. He looked back at the window. The walls were coated with flesh and blood. The bed was ripped to pieces. His entire body was evidence of the battle. Yet the window, the closed window with the fog and rain on its surface, remained absolutely intact.

He kept his eyes on the window as he mindlessly walked towards it. His feet brushed easily out of his worn down, bloody cloak. The only thing that didn't have blood on it was some parts of his levi pants shielded from the robe. His feet dragged along the ground, causing ripples in the blood. He grunted, bumping into the table. The scroll fell over, and he angrily swung back a hand. He knocked over a glass of water, causing it to crash and break on the ground. Blood, water and glass shards flew into the air and were shoved back down by gravity. The blood and water mingled like roosters circling one another before a cockfight.

His bloody, injured hands squeezed the windowsil. He panted, growling with a hiss as he forced the window up, leaving a bloody hand print on its surface. When the window was up, he slowly edged out closer and closer. The rain was pounding into his ears. He shut his eyes and bit his bottom lip.

The room behind him rearranged for a moment. The corpse of a loved one taking the place of the countless nobodies. A small child weeping over the body with a look of helpless pain in their eyes.

This equalled that. It had not changed. Nothing had changed since he had left. Nineteen years old, and still he was plagued by the hellish nightmare that was reality. Running farther and farther, searching for what seemed impossible to be found, it all felt useless. And even now, after destroying all those monsters, he felt no relief.

He stuck his head out the window, the rain immediately beating down on him. He took in a deep breath, and screamed. Screamed and screamed and screamed. The rain which he hated most cleansed the blood from his body. He pulled at his hair, gnashed his teeth, clawed the windowsil. But he did it all with screaming. Finally, once his lungs burned, he drew his body back in from the window. He stared out at the rain, blinking away water and tears as it poured down from his wet mop of hair and amethyst eyes.

Sanzo Genjo never felt so relieved in his entire life.

OWARI.

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